


Who You Are

by Anonymous



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bellamy takes care of her, But it's a messed up situation, But things get dark first, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt Clarke, Idk how to categorize Bellarke tbh with you, Protective Bellamy, Rape Aftermath, Rape as capital punishment, The 100 (TV) Kink Meme, angst and pain, group think, he really loves her, she loves him too, tiny bit of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 05:44:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17595566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: 2019 Kink Meme Prompt: Clarke committed a crime, the punishment is that every man in the vicinity is to fuck her in the stocks within 42 hours. Bellamy is one of them.+bonus if he’s hesitant and can’t stop apologizing+double bonus if he cleans her up first+triple bonus if he makes her feel good





	1. Chapter 1

At dawn, when streaks of fire orange and palest pink color the sky, Pike reads the sentence aloud standing in the center of the square. Abby screams until they shock lash her and drag her limp body away to the holding cell within Arkadia. Bellamy fights the guards holding him back at the edge of the tight circle of people. But there are too many of them for it to be effective. Clarke had betrayed their people by staying at Polis, yes. But this-- This was sick. Disgusting. Cruel. Sadistic. Inhumane.  
  
They drag her out - gagged and wearing a black shift which barely moves from the lack of breeze. Summer's begun, and the heat is rising. She keeps her head down, long blonde hair knotted in twists and braids hiding her face from his view. He cries for her, screams her name until his throat goes raw. Finally, she looks at him. Just one time, crystal eyes darting to his with pure terror written in them, before flicking them away. But not before he catches the few tears sliding down her face.   
  
Pike is waiting for her next to a three-sided rectangle with the dirt as its base. The wood looks rough and full of splinters. He binds her right wrist to one post and her left to the other before moving on to do the same to her feet. Bellamy screams for her again, and a guard punches him in the gut, winds him. Holds him in place in a chair that materialized out of thin air specifically for him. Forces his face forward with harsh hands on either side of his jaw to make sure he'll watch.   
  
In the distance, the sun comes up. The crowd is buzzing with electricity. He can feel their excitement, which nauseates him.  
  
When Pike begins speaking, the crowd begins cheering. Shouts of his name --"Pike! Pike! Pike! Pike!" erupt all around.   
  
"Citizens of Arkadia," he calls out in a booming voice, "I give you Clarke Griffin, the great Wanheda." The hisses are enormous, strengthening so much Bellamy thinks he might be left with a permanent ringing in his ears. Pike speaks loudly over them, "Bound as a traitor to her people under the laws set forth by the Exodus Charter. I give you Clarke Griffin--" he walks around her slowly. Clarke keeps her head down. Bellamy doesn't even know why he wants her to fight; it's not like there's anything she can do. But he needs to see life in her, or his heart might give out. Pike grips her on her ass cheeks with both of his big hands, and Bellamy's close enough to hear her soft, startled cry. The audience laughs. "Arkadia's first public use whore. The girl who left her own people for the grounders. As punishment for her crimes of siding with and supporting Lexa and her band of murderers, every man in Arkadia has my permission to fuck her until the sun sets."   
  
A collective gasp moves through the crowd as people look at each other. Surely someone will say something now, he thinks. Nobody will let Pike take it this far. Bellamy tries to use the pause as leverage to break away from the two men holding him down, but it's impossible. The latch around his arms and drag him back into position, hissing that if he doesn't stop, they're going to beat him into a stupor, Pike's favorite or not. His eyes dart around to find David Miller, standing mute, Nathan at his side. His friend's jaw is ticking hard, but he's not doing anything to stop the madness. Bellamy's finds Monty's face in the crowd and catches there. They stare at each other, the horror he feels vibrating in his bones reflected back in Monty's face, and Harper's beside him.  
  
Jasper, fucking useless most of the time, steps forward half-drunk, swaying a little.   
  
"She might be a bitch who blew up my girlfriend, but even she doesn't deserve this," he offers in his voice of flat irony before taking a swig out of a clear bottle.   
  
A burly, blonde guard hits him hard across the face, and he collapses instantly.   
  
A man steps forward - Geoff is his name. At least Bellamy thinks so. For a stupidly naive moment, he thinks this man will be the one to put a stop to it. He's rational, law-abiding. Has a small son. But he almost chokes when the man's hands go to his belt, beginning to unfasten it.   
  
"Hold off, Geoff," Pike laughs, a deep ringing sound. "I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I get to go first as your Chancellor."

* * *

PIke removes a silver knife from his boot and stands before Clarke, gripping the front of her shift and starting to cut it from the neck down to her knees where it ends. There is such thick silence that everyone can hear the rip of the fabric. She's not wearing anything underneath, the ripeness of her large breasts and gloss of her dirty blonde pubic hair on display for all their people to see as Pike pulls the sides of the cloth apart, exposing her to them all.   
  
"I'd touch those tits," Pike says cruelly, "but I don't want to get you too excited."   
  
Bellamy tries to lurch forward again and almost falls out of his seat in the attempt.   
  
"Don't worry, Blake," Pike calls out, completely misunderstanding. Or maybe purposefully misunderstanding. "You'll get your turn right after me."   
  
Bellamy closes his eyes briefly when he sees the shock baton aiming for the space between her legs. His blood pumps like fire at the sound of Clarke's wail. He can't abandon her. He opens his eyes.   
  
"We'll start slow, Wanheda," Pike hisses. "Get that cunt worked up with a few shocks before I press my cock into you, hmmm?"   
  
Grinning like a maniac, he rolls the tip of the baton between her pussy lips, dropping underneath to nuzzle it against her clit. Clarke winces and twists, but there's nowhere for her body to go. The hiss of the shock comes again, a sound Bellamy knows he'll never forget now. Clarke's limbs go taut, he can see her tendons stretch and pulse beneath her smooth skin.   
  
Pike reaches around and grips her ass, dragging her closer to his groin as far as the restraints allow, rocking her into his growing bulge.   
  
"That's it, Griffin. Show me what you got," he husks. Her long hair blocks Bellamy's view of her face again as she moves back and forth. The guard to his left adjusts himself while some begin to catcall.   
  
Pike drags the shock baton up her belly, and Bellamy hates himself for noticing the light glint of fluid on the inside of one of her thighs. He rolls it around one nipple then the other before giving a quick shock to both.   
  
Clarke yells out though it's muffled against the cloth shoved in her mouth, knees starting to buckle. Bellamy roars, though he's swiftly backhanded in the face. He tastes a trickle of coppery blood enter his mouth.   
  
Pike laughs, "Oh you like that, don't you? And why is that?" he strokes the side of her face. "Because you really are a little slut, aren't you? Ready to take my cock up that cunt now I bet."   
  
He unzips his pants and barely pulls them or his underwear down, only going far enough to release his rampant erection. Bellamy's near enough to see the fear in Clarke's eyes. She's only ever been with Finn. At least as far as he knows. It's not like they talked about it. But rumors spread in a small camp full of delinquent teenagers.   
  
He winces when Pike thrusts into her the first time, moaning in delight at the feel of her. And that seems to be all it takes. The crowd goes absolutely wild, chanting for him to fuck her, pound her, feed her his come. It's what he imagines a gladiator fight would have been like in Ancient Rome. Pike grunts in pleasure as he thrusts into her, more and more of his cock disappearing each time. His hands hold onto her ass, though infrequently they crawl up and squeeze one of her breasts. But what makes Bellamy feel most sick is when he leans into her ear to whisper things he can't hear. Clarke looks lifeless - she has nothing to do but let it happen while he sits helplessly by.   
  
Finally, Pike yells out, "My come is too good for your cunt, Griffin!" He pulls out, and she makes a gasping noise behind her gag. The next second, he's spraying streaming bright whiteness across her breasts and stomach, managing to make some land tangled up in her pussy hair, too.  
  
"You're a good fuck, Wanheda," Pike spits at her feet. "Cut her free," he motions to two guards standing nearby. "It's Bellamy's turn next." 


	2. Chapter 2

They give him a throne in the center of all these people - a goddamn high-backed black chair to sit in and present her to him with the shift hanging from her shoulder, still coated in Pike's come. But at least the gag's gone. She stares at him with so many emotions in her eyes that he can't keep track of them. Fear. Shame. Anger. And he's a motherfucking asshole, but he thinks, just maybe, maybe, the tiniest drop of arousal dilating her pupils.   
  
"Make sure you make it worth our while or she's dead, Blake!" Pike shouts out from twenty yards away.   
  
He bites his lip, shakes his hair out of his eyes before pulling his shirt over his head. It's strange enough to make Clarke raise her eyebrow. Whistles and whoops spring forth from the women surrounding them. Bellamy swallows loudly. He hopes his voice sounds soft.   
  
"Clarke. Come here, Princess."   
  
It must be decent enough because she shuffles forward and he pats his lap, lifting her gently by the waist to seat her there. He dabs at the stains Pike left behind on her belly first then looks away when he moves the cloth inside her shift to clean her breasts. He hesitates, but her fingers grip around his wrist, pushing his hand down between her legs, so he can wipe there as well.   
  
"Give them the show they want," she whispers to him.  
  
"I'm so sorry--" he tries, but she cuts him off, shaking her head.   
  
"Don't."   
  
"Clarke-" his voice breaks as she unzips his pants for him hastily, scratching her nails into the skin at his stomach as she drags them down before moving for his boxers.   
  
"Shut up," she grits back.   
  
"I never wanted it like this--" he tries again.   
  
"Too late," she snarls, rising up on her knees and stroking him a few times from base to tip before using his head to tease her clit. His mind goes white. There's nothing now but her. Nothing but her flushed cheeks and the angry pout of her mouth, the heavy slopes of her breasts and the wetness of her cunt brushing against his cock.   
  
She sinks down on his cock like he always knew she would, fitting perfectly. She gasps at the stretch of him, but it's impossible to know what it really means because her face is already hidden in the crook of his neck and shoulder. He has the wherewithal to tug the cloth as close to her body as he can to shield her nakedness with one hand before returning it to her waist. Clarke rises up a little to look at him with dazed glass in her blue eyes. He wants desperately to kiss her, to taste her moan in his mouth, but he knows it will never be allowed.   
  
So he cups her breast instead, tries not to be too rough when he pinches her nipples, palms her ass and whispers, "Why did you have to be so goddamn stubborn, Princess?" into her neck.   
  
She bites at his shoulder in response.   
  
The audience demands he fuck her harder, so he does.   
  
"Didn't you know I wanted to protect you?" He's half-snarl, half-desperation but wholly consumed by her scent of vanilla and earthy musk, by the way she runs her fingers tightly through his curls and holds them there.   
  
He hears the sound before he sees the tear fall. Looks up to find her crying openly, blinking at him for a slow moment like a wounded deer.   
  
"I'm so sorry I have to do this," he whispers into the hollow between her breasts, pressing his lips to her skin while he feels her spine arch against him. Her pussy's so slick and hot and clutching his cock like it won't ever let go.   
  
"No you're not," she whispers into his hair, voice so full of pain it's cutting him open.   
  
"This isn't who I am."   
  
"Sure it is," she bites through the tears. "Anything for your people."   
  
"That's what you think?" He presses down on her clit, catching it between two fingers and rubbing it back and forth. She jolts.   
  
"That's what I know."   
  
Bellamy laughs drily. It scares him how dark it sounds. Maybe this will break him even though he's not the one being punished. 

* * *

"Maybe I can fuck the Wanheda out of you," he rasps into her ear. He moves her small hands to his thighs to give her leverage as his fingers move to work at the little bands at the bottoms of her twists and braids. He pulls them free desperately because his Clarke has to be under there somewhere. The medical intern from the dropship, the one who went toe-to-toe with him about every damned thing and drove him crazy and saved his life more than once. The artist. The mastermind. The beauty.   
  
She moans against his mouth when his cock twitches inside her. He grips her hips desperately, ruts into her all his pent-up anxiety, his pain, his pleasure at finally having her in his arms, even like this, after over three months apart. Her walls are hugging him tight, choking his dick, and he loves it. The crowd yells for him to fuck her harder, slap her ass, but he doesn't do either. He cups his hand against her instead, plays softly with her clit, whispering, "Come for me, Princess. Come on my cock." Just as he begins to spurt his come deep inside her body, she does.   
  
Pike's right there lifting her off him while he's still shuddering his release. His milky come rolls down her thighs as she struggles. He barely clasps at her hand, squeezes her fingers before she's being pulled away. "Bellamy!" she screams, face flushed, naked but somehow not broken. "Bellamy!"   
  
He can't watch as Pike calls Geoff Hardy forward to take his turn. He can't think. Can barely breathe. He can't protect her. Pushing roughly through the crowd, he's only mildly surprised when nobody stops him. He throws up in a trash can right inside the Medbay door on his way back to his room.   
  
Hours later, as the shadows begin to lengthen and the yells and jeers finally quiet, the sun slips down toward the mountain line. The moment it falls between the purple peaks, he walks back through the square. His boots kick up dust as he goes. She's alone now, tied down to a wood board at the ankles. Even Pike has gone. Fear lights her face at the footsteps, but her shoulders slump when she realizes it's him.   
  
He unties her carefully, picking her up below her knees and around her back. She mumbles something into his shirt he can't hear, her voice cracking.   
  
"Shhhhh. I got you. It's gonna be ok now. I got you," he murmurs into her hair. Anything to wipe the pain from her face.   
  
When he reaches the cool, tiled shower in a private corner of Arkadia, he soaps up a rag and gently cleans her body, soaking his own clothes in the process. He lets the water run between her legs until it grows cold and she shudders, gripping at his forearm wordlessly. He suds her hair with the fancier shampoo made of berries, all the braids gone now. She leans into the hollow below his collarbone and cries softly. All he can think to do is kiss the top of her head.    
  
The softest pajama bottoms are tucked away in his bottom drawer. He hands her one of his shirts, and she tugs them both on before collapsing into his bed, still mute. Bellamy clicks off the lights, walking to the couch ready to sleep the sleep of the dead himself when her quiet, husky voice finally emerges, singing through the night straight into his chest.   
  
"Bellamy, I need you."   
  
It's a question because she doesn't know if he will. But moments later, he slides under the covers and slips a very careful arm around her belly, drawing her back into his chest. He strokes her side as she cries. 

"Is this ok?" 

"Yeah. Hold me tighter."

  
"You're ok. You're ok. It's over," he keeps repeating. He wants to shoot every man in this camp dead. Wants to light the place on fire and watch it burn.   
  
"I'm a whore," she hiccups, struggling to breath but just rolling over and burrowing into his chest. "How can you touch me?"   
  
Her body shakes with a pain that runs so deep it reaches her organs. He cries with her, wetting her neck and rearranging the blankets around her shoulders so she's more tucked in.   
  
"You're not," he says fiercely. "That wasn't you. It was Wanheda. You're still Clarke. My Clarke."   
  
She tilts her face up, tears clocking her eyelashes as she blinks at him, eyes softening. She reaches up a shaky finger to trace his jaw, his cheek, the slope of his nose and cushion of his lips.   
  
"You're really here with me," she says in wonder like she's still trekking alone through the woods, delirious.   
  
"Always," he promises. "And you're here with me. "You're home." 


End file.
